Fading like a Flower
by Milk-and-Hope
Summary: It was the frostwork on the thin window glass that reminded her of home. The frostwork she looked at every morning before she left her new room, a new room that wouldn't be new forever. She would live here for years, decades even ... Song based Chelsie fanfic about Elsie's first years at Downton


**Hey folks! To distract myself a bit from "Fairytale of old York" I began to work on a long one-shot. The idea had been there for years, I swear. I always struggled to write it down, but now ... Alas, I'll publish it in two chapters, because I struggle a lot with what comes next and begin to doubt it. So before I delete the whole thing, I'll just out it on ff dot net and hope there's an appetite for it.**

**Also, this is a song fic. It's heavily inspired by "Fading like a Flower" (Roxette), which might be one of the most unusual choices ever :D But I think no song choice is too unusual for me ;) (I'll only say this: Fairytale of New York)  
**

**Before we start: I usually feel uncomfortable with writing canon Chelsie, simply because I seriously think I'll never manage to portray canon Charles and Elsie in character. This is a HUGE challenge. I can't even remember ever publishing a not AU fic before *hides* **

**Here are so many authors who manage to portray them so beautifully and in character. I'm none of them. OOPS**

**So yeah. Here you have it, folks! The first part of this.**

**Downton, Yorkshire, March 1895**

_**In a time**_

_**Where the sun descends alone**_

_**I ran a long, long way from home**_

_**To find a heart that's made of stone**_

It was the frostwork on the thin window glass that reminded her of home. The frostwork she looked at every morning before she left her new room, a new room that wouldn't be new forever. She would live here for years, decades even, and even though the frostwork she was currently staring at might be the last one for this year, Elsie Hughes knew for sure it wasn't the last time frostwork would remind her of home, of the cold in her little chamber, cabbage leaves around her feet, goose fat on her face when she had to work outside in winter.

She touched the glass with the tips of her fingers, taking a deep breath. Hopefully Becky was warm now, safe and surrounded by people who actually understood her. She couldn't be sure, not until her next chance to visit the poor girl, but she could hope for the best.

Because there only was one other solution, a solution she wasn't sure she was made for.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Time to start the day. Time to leave the frostwork, the memories, the worries, behind.

The frostwork would melt during the day, only to come back when nearly everyone in the house was resting. Just like everything she tried so desperately to leave behind. Sorrows. Pain. Grief. Joe.

Elsie licked her lips, quickly checked the looking glass to make sure her hair was tidy and began her day as head housemaid at Downton Abbey, a job she hadn't even dared to hope for. Yet she was here. And she'd made the most of it.

"Good morning, Elsie"

"Good morning, Ada." She nodded at the thin, red haired maid that crossed her way and approached the staircase. Time to go to downstairs, to start the work. Less than five hours of sleep, but Elsie had never been used to more.

"Good morning, Elsie." That was Emlyn, the kitchen maid, always on her feet, always in a hurry.

She greeted that girl with a nod and a smile.

Well. there were always people around, she was never truly alone, which didn't mean she didn't feel lonely every now and then. No, that was an understatement. She felt lonely quite often. But now was no time to dwell on that.

Downstairs was busy, as usual, footmen running around, carrying trays and muttering, the cook, Mrs. Austen, who didn't use the beautiful words her namesake had chosen in her wonderful novels, already screaming at her poor assistant cook.

"Elsie, have you seen Mrs. Blair?" There was no need to turn around in order to see who was talking to her. Even after not more than a few weeks, she'd recognize the butler's deep voice everywhere. He was quite young to be a butler, but Emlyn had told her he had only been promoted a few months ago.

But still, she did turn around, greeted him with a smile, as she did with everyone. It was important to make people see that she was a nice, decent woman.

"Good morning, Mr. Carson, I'm afraid I haven't seen her yet, I only came downstairs a minute ago. But I'll gladly look for her if you want me to."

The thing was, all the servants at Downton seemed to like or at least respect her. They were friendly and polite, always smiled back. But not Mr. Carson. She wasn't even sure he had ever looked at her properly and it always surprised her that he didn't confuse her with other maids. He never smiled back, never exchanged pleasantries or even said only one word more than was absolutely necessary.

"That'd be kind of you, please send her to my pantry, thank you." Then, almost as an afterthought, he added her name "Elsie".

That man. Seriously. He might be the butler, but somehow, he was just a boobie, like all the men in the world. She could bet he wasn't always that … stiff, proper. He was physically capable of smiling, that she was sure of, but she still needed proof for that.

* * *

**Downton, Yorkshire, July 1895**

_**I will try**_

_**I just need a little time**_

_**To get your face right out of my mind**_

_**To see the world through different eyes**_

Days passed, weeks, months. Time went by and sometimes, when she was alone in her room, only the huge pile of letters from Joe made her realize how long she'd worked at Downton now. He wanted an answer, hoped she'd leave Downton for him, wanted so much more than what she ever thought she could offer. He was a farmer, a nice man - a very nice man. A young widower, a hard worker, a hopeless romantic who desperately wanted to put a ring on her finger.

She'd have to write him soon. She'd have to write him soon that she had an answer for him - but not the answer he had hoped for.

Elsie bit her bottom lip and stared out of the small window. She was glad that she didn't have to share her room with another maid, at least for now. Mrs. Blair, the housekeeper, had told her that might change soon.

Summer had come and as she stood there, after a long day of work and watching the sun descend, she thought back to the frostwork on the window glass in Winter. The seasons had changed, life went on and she didn't think that much about home, about Scotland, anymore. Becky was always on her mind, of course, but lately she found herself more and more … satisfied. She joked with the other maids, played cards and used her half day to go for long walks in the village. She was needed here, people valued her work and when each day came to an end, she knew what she had done.

A knock at the door startled her. At that time of the day! But well. She had retired a bit early after all and who knew which sort of incident required her presence now. Probably His Lordship's dog puking on the good carpet. Again.

She rolled her eyes as she weakly said "Please come in."

To her surprise, it was Emlyn who opened the door. The poor thing was the first one to rise in the morning and the last one to go to bed and she wasn't older than fourteen, maybe not even that.

"Excuse me, Elsie, but Mr. Carson told me he wanted to see you, now if it's possible."

Oh. Elsie furrowed her brow, that was rather unusual and she couldn't think of anything the butler could want from her that late in the evening. Thankfully, she hadn't changed into her nightgown yet.

"I'll come and see him in a minute, Emlyn. He hasn't, by any chance, said what this is about?"

The young girl, she really wasn't more than a girl yet, looked at Elsie with wide eyes, as if she was shocked in any way. "No … But they called the doctor, something has happened."

Now, that didn't tell her much, except for the fact that the word _doctor_ usually meant that someone had fallen il, which always meant more work for her.

Elsie nodded at the girl, waiting for her to leave the room which she quickly did.

She sighed, realizing this day wouldn't end for a long time. Mr. Carson definitely had a good reason to let someone fetch her. He never talked to her without a good reason.

Sometimes not even that.

The man was a riddle to her. Yes, he was the butler and she was only the head housemaid, but he only ever really talked to Mrs. Blair, occasionally shared a sherry with the elderly housekeeper in the evening, but otherwise … No sign that he actually belonged to the human race.

But sometimes, and only sometimes, she noticed him smirking at a remark of hers. Or he rolled his eyes when the footmen made silly jokes. Once she had even heard him humming.

Elsie shook her head. Such thoughts! She really should be on her way downstairs already.

So she left her room, walking down the stairs trying to figure out what exactly might be wrong. The doctor had been called, that she knew, but that could mean a great many things. Was it someone upstairs, someone downstairs? An accident? An illness? If it was an illness, she hoped only one person had caught it. The last thing she needed right now were four sick maids.

To her surprise, the servant's hall was empty, the kitchen quiet, not even all the candles were still burning.

"Ah, Elsie, there you are." Mr. Carson came out of Mrs. Blair's sitting room, his hair someone untidy and she noticed immediately that he was out of uniform, only in his white shirt, no jackett.

"I am, Mr. Carson, how can I help you?" It was weird. The whole situation was simply weird and she didn't quite know what to make of all of this.

He cleared his throat and pointed at the door to the housekeeper's sitting room. "If you'd follow me?"

Alright. She it her bottom lip and nodded. She would follow him. Whatever all of that meant. She could be in trouble, especially if Mr. Carson and Mrs. Blair wanted to talk to her. What if they had noticed the many letters from Joe? Or if one of the housemaids had stolen something? It could be about some serious accusations from upstairs, the family could be dissatisfied with the maids' work.

Her mind was reeling and she suddenly felt dizzy.

To her surprise, Mrs. Blair wasn't in her room, instead she saw a little tray with two glasses and some sherry on the small table.

"Please sit down, Elsie."

Again, she did as she was told without replying a single word.

Elsie Hughes was a very observant people and she somehow always guessed what would happen long before it would happen. Right now, she had no bloody idea what might be going on. She was clueless, somethings that seldomly occured. And she hated it.

"You'll wonder why I asked you to come down and why Mrs. Blair isn't here." He sat down and began to pour them sherry without even asking. Truth be told, she didn't care much for sherry, but she knew better than actually saying that to him now.

"That's right, Mr. Carson."

He raked his fingers through his hair, something she's never seen him doing before, and took a deep breath.

"Ada found her earlier, here in this room." He gazed at the spot in front of the bureau and seemed to struggle to find the right words. " Doctor Clarkson suspects a heart attack, even though he wasn't quite sure. But she's still alive." The words _for now_ hung in the air, but none of both dared to voice them.

Poor Mrs. Blair. The old woman definitely was strict and very no-nonsense, but she could have a very sharp sense of humor and was always fair. Truth be told, Elsie had always wondered why she hadn't retired yet. A heart attack was a terrible thing to happen. She's only ever heard about it, but still …

"We hope for the best of course, but as the butler, it is my duty to make sure everything's running smoothly." He reached for his glass, took a sip. His hands were shaking.

"Of course, Mr. Carson." Now it dawned on her. Somebody needed to fulfill Mrs. Blair's tasks. And that someone would be her, at least for the time being.

"No house is running smoothly without a housekeeper, Elsie. Mrs. Blair might come back, she might was well not come back. In any case, we need an acting housekeeper." She noticed that he spoke more quickly than usual, as if he was nervous. "I want you to fulfill this task for now. We'll look for an appropriate replacement, should Mrs. Blair retire or worse, but until we know for sure what's going on … You are Mrs. Hughes, the housekeeper." Well, _acting _housekeeper, but still. That was definitely nothing she had dared to think about. Such a high position, even if it was only for a few days or weeks. Still.

She'd need to go through the ledgers, the linen-rota … God. The responsibility. The work.

Housekeeper. Unable to say anything, she simply thought about that. Wasn't that what she had really wanted? The highest position a woman in service could have. A job to be proud of. A job that would make it easier to provide for Becky.

No. She was not housekeeper, probably never would be. This was just a temporary solution, not more. No new position.

"I feel honoured, Mr. Carson," was all she was able to reply and when she caught his gaze, he was actually smiling.

He actually smiled - in the middle of this chaos. She didn't know him well, but she certainly knew he wasn't happy about complications and unforeseen changes, so Elsie was indeed a bit confused.

Not only a bit, to be quite honest. Mrs. Blair in hospital, a chatelaine on her waist come morning, the ledgers … She, Elsie Hughes, a farmer's daughter from Argyll, would be acting housekeeper of Downton Abbey.

Again, she silently scolded herself for making that such a great deal, even if it was only in her mind. Her superior had fallen ill and she had to take charge, not more. She should pray for Mrs. Blair. That was what she had to do instead of thinking about her career.

* * *

**Downton, Yorkshire, December 1895**

_**Everytime I see you**_

_**Oh, I try to hide away**_

_**But when we meet it seems I can't let go**_

_**Everytime you leave the room**_

_**I feel I'm fading like a flower**_

They worked well together, like a clockwork, totally in sync. She'd never given him a reason to complain about her work, had never showed him how insecure she was sometimes, how much she doubted herself after a particularly hard day. She was a bit young to be the housekeeper of such a big house, but the other servants respected her.

She had found more than just work at Downton. More than Joe could have given her. For the first time in her life, she felt as if she was not onely _home_, but also valued and … enough. She was simply enough - good enough, nice enough, strict enough, enough of everything. People accepted her as she was and Mr. Carson, that silly old boobie, made her feel less lonely. He understood what it meant to be a superior, to carry responsibility - or a _heavy crown_ as he would put it, but then again, he was just a men and nearly all men were a bit daft.

And they simply made it work.

Elsie smiled to herself as she closed the ledger, satisfied after another day of work - as the housekeeper of Downton Abbey. Much to her surprise, it had been Mr. Carson himself who had made clear to his Lordship that there was no need to look for a replacement for Mrs. Blair, because the perfect replacement had already been there.

Housekeeper. Who would have thought? At her age!

A letter from Joe had arrived that mourning and even though he kept telling her how much he had longed to marry her, he had found another women who agreed to become Mrs. Burns.

Mrs. Blair was feeling better again, lived in a cozy cottage on the grounds now and enjoyed retirement. Becky lived in another home now, in Lytham St. Annes, Elsie's new position allowed her to spend a bit more on her sister's care.

All was well.

And even though the frostwork was back, Elsie didn't think back as often anymore.

A knock at the door. She knew exactly who it was, just as nearly every evening.

"Please come in, Mr. Carson!;" she answered turning around in her chair.

"How did you know it was me, mrs. Hughes?"

She let out an amused sigh. "Oh, Mr. Carson, I can't think of anyone else who'd come to my sitting room at this time of the day, with two glasses of leftover port to that." If she could be sure that he understood her sense of humour, she'd have said something else.

The butler just looked at her somehow a bit confused.

"Now, take a seat Mr. Carson, please."

As he did as he was told, she joined him. Daft man.

Elsie had no idea why, but while both of them acted nothing but professional during the day, she had to smile most of the time when they sat together at night.

"Have you interviewed someone for Ada's position yet?" He raised his eyes in question and filled their glasses.

"No, not yet. I still can't believe she'll leave us." Back when Elsie had worked as head housemaid, Ada was a friend, a confidant, someone to talk to. That had changed, of course.

"To marry a man to that!," Mr. Carson added, shaking his head as if marrying _a man_ was something beyond foolish to do.

Perhaps he was even right.

"Now, should she marry a dog instead?" She was _teasing_ him, always amused by the look on his face when he felt mocked.

"Of course not! But … marriage. She could have worked her way up, just like you." He spat out the word _marriage_ as if it was something disgraceful.

"That's not the right decision for every woman, Mr. Carson."

Then he looked up, his big brown eyes piercing her. "But it was for you?"

What a weird question to ask. So personal, so blunt. Very unlike him.

"Yes, Mr. Carson. It definitely was the right decision for me." And that for so many reasons. One of them was him. In a partnership, she knew that well enough, husband and wife seldomly met on an equal footing, weren't on eye level. But with him, she had found an equal, someone who treated her as the experienced woman she was. And Elsie found she rather liked that. "And for you, Mr. Carson? Was service the right decision for you?"

He nodded, straightening his back, a grin on his face. "I dare say no man could be prouder than I am, Mrs. Hughes. I'm the butler of Downton Abbey and work very hard not to let standards slip."

She believed him. Charles Carson was one of those men who were beyond proud of their position. He lived to work. He didn't work to live, unlike all the factory workers, bakers, taylors and post masters.

"I know you work very hard, Mr. Carson." They all did. Each and everyone of them. Emlyn as well as her or Mr. Carson.

They sat there for a little while longer, talking about household matters, about the cook and her poor assistant, Beryl, about the hallboys or sweet Lady Sybil, the latest addition to the Crawley family, born only a few months earlier.

Elsie enjoyed their talk, very much so. She found herself smiling more often during these one or two hours than throughout the whole day.

They gave each other comfort and sometimes she even thought of the butler as a friend, a confidant.

"Now, Mrs. Hughes, I'm afraid we lost track of time. It's nearly midnight." The corners of his mouth twitched as he got up and he gave her one last smile.

"Of course, Mr. Carson, tomorrow is a long day."

"Just as always, Mrs. Hughes."

"Just as always, Mr. Carson."

It was beyond silly, but somehow they repeated these three sentences nearly every night now. It had become some silly kind of habit. And it was true, their days were always long.

But it was on this exact evening that Elsie Hughes realized that she felt somehow hollow when Mr. Carson left her sitting room, the tray with the now empty glasses in his hands.

The butler was gone. Not only the butler - her partner, her friend, her … whatever. Whatever.

She shook her head and checked her room a last time before going upstairs. It was beyond foolish to think of him as more than a colleague.

But still.

As much as she wanted to roll her eyes every time he said something stupid, like that remark about the heavy crown, or talked about the family as if they were Saints - as often as she silently felt the urge to slap him - as much he had grown dear to her heart. She couldn't deny it any longer. Elsie wasn't in love with him, definitely not, but she wanted to be on his side.

**Okay. I'll now try to keep calm :D I'm not sure about this, definitely not. I struggle A LOT with the second part and might lose my mind. As some may know, I am NOT a native speaker and sadly work without a beta. But I try. I just need a little time. To get this fic right outta my mind.**

**Also ... Reviews rtock my socks, they make me sing and dance and smile and are just a mahooooooosive support xxx**


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